


On Tuesday Night

by Gleaming_Spires (cuppaktea)



Category: History Boys (2006), History Boys - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, parental homophobia mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 17:18:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13506183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuppaktea/pseuds/Gleaming_Spires
Summary: It’s Tom’s night out at his book club or sitting in the pub with his research crew, or whatever it is he does on a Tuesday to avoid what he describes as the excruciating experience of sitting through half an hour watching himself. Not that Stu’s complaining, he prefers watching it this way anyway.





	On Tuesday Night

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Just Before the News](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2853434) by [Makioka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makioka/pseuds/Makioka). 



> I didn't realise until after I wrote it that I actually got the idea for this from a much better fic that I read ages ago and thought, 'hey, this seems familiar'.... so yeah, definitely go read that one. 
> 
> The quotes from the Tudor documents are genuine ones that I read on an A-Level website and it turns out lots of real history people agree with Irwin.

 

 

Dakin rushes in the door dumping his briefcase and jacket on the hall table, his tie is strewn over the bannister and shoes are toed off on the stairs as he rushes up to the bedroom.

 

Traffic was a bitch coming home from work and he’s a little later than planned. Cursing, he checks his watch and flips on the small telly in the bedroom. He breathes a sigh of relief as the blue fluffy 2 squeaks at him from the screen and turns around to dig lube and tissues out of his bedside drawer.

 

He strips quickly and efficiently to the ridiculous trumpet based theme tune, not bothering to close the curtains. If someone wants to get their kicks off watching him wanking then that’s their affair and he feels they deserve whatever sad thrills they can get.

 

It’s Tom’s night out at his book club or sitting in the pub with his research crew, or whatever it is he does on a Tuesday to avoid what he describes as the excruciating experience of sitting through half an hour watching himself. Stu doesn’t see the problem personally and insists on watching it every week. Not that he’s complaining, he prefers watching it this way anyway.

 

By the time he’s stretched out on the bed he’s already half hard and the camera is only panning over Hampton Court.

 

He’s been enjoying this series, based on the private lives of notorious Kings and Queens. Last week the subject was Catherine the Great and he could barely walk on the Wednesday, he had to tell his secretary he pushed himself too far at the gym.

 

Tudors this week then, obviously. He prefers this sort of stuff to more modern history, which is often a non-starter – the subject material sapping any eroticism out of Tom’s presenting skills. That said, his Battle of Britain piece was pretty fucking hot.

 

The titles inform him that this week it’s Henry VIII. This should be good. Stu’s skin tingles at the flood of memories, taking him back to a time when even sharing a look felt like an illicit achievement. He remembers the first time he was brave enough to sling his arm around Tom in the ruins of Fountains Abbey, and how hard he’d come with Fiona that night from thinking about that brief contact.

 

Resisting the urge to get started, he shoves another pillow under his head and waits. His patience is rewarded after a few seconds. Tom strolls into the shot of the Royal park from the side of the screen, long legs easily covering the ground in leisurely strides.

 

The wardrobe department kits him out on the telly, so for once his natural assets aren’t hidden by a sea of drab fabric. Stu imagines those legs wrapped around him. He pinches his nipples and exhales shakily.

 

His cock is already feeling a need for attention but he’s got half an hour to enjoy and doesn’t want this to be over too soon.

 

On the screen, Tom is bitching about modern portrayals of Henry as a jolly old fat bloke with an eye for the ladies - more akin to Father Christmas than the raging narcissistic, misogynistic psychopath he really was.

 

He looks directly into the camera as he speaks and Stu feels personally chastised.

 

Groaning softly, he bites his lip, hands straying down his body, as close to his cock as he dares.

 

He loves this side of Tom. It’s not even that he doesn’t see it anymore, it’s just that these days it’s mostly directed at other people.

 

Any attempts he’s made to get Tom to play teacher with him have been sternly rebuffed on the grounds that Tom thinks it’s creepy (not that stern isn’t good too).

 

These private Tuesday evenings are the time when he savours Tom’s snark and imperiousness these days, at least for the six week long blocks the series runs for.

 

There’s plenty of Tom’s stern side here, as he goes on to berate the monarchy and society in general for inheriting a culture of obscene gestures of wealth from the second most famous historical murderer of women after Jack the Ripper.

 

Being obscene with money, and obscene in general, is something he does get told off for on occasion and Stu can feel his heart thumping in anticipation already. He gives in a bit and cups his balls with one hand.

 

The programme moves inside the palace to where Tom is conversing in hushed tones with a resident historian who shows him documents that are strictly off-limits to the public while she subtly flirts with him.

 

All of Tom’s enthusiasm is reserved for the parchment in front of him, and he carries on oblivious to the attentions of the poor girl who bats her eyelashes up at him as he describes the importance of the thing to the camera.

 

Muted little exclamations of excitement escape every time he ‘discovers’ something new and Stu imagines that Tom is doing it deliberately to tease him.

 

He briefly entertains the idea of a threesome but he can’t even make it believable enough to fantasize about, so he forgets about her and concentrates on the line of Tom’s neck down the open collar of his shirt, thinking fondly of the noises he makes when Stu bites down just below his Adam’s apple.

 

Fumbling for the bottle on the bedside table, he squirts some lube onto his stomach, swipes his hand through it and finally grips his cock. Haphazardly, he tosses the bottle aside to deal with later.

 

Tom asks whether they ought to be wearing gloves, a question so obviously scripted it interrupts Stu’s happy voyeuristic mood and makes him roll his eyes. He doubts there’s anything about handling old books that Tom doesn’t know, the amount of research he does.

 

Miss Flirty spends a tedious amount of time explaining how it’s better to handle old documents without them because the lack of dexterity actually causes more damage, and goes on to tell a story about how medieval monks believed that wearing gloves to handle books was an extravagance that would lead to purgatory. Stu thinks it’s dull as fuck, however, the camera is on Tom’s face and Stu can tell that it’s a new one on him because he smiles his genuinely happy smile, the one where his crooked top teeth are on full display. Stu feels a sharp stab of jealousy and arousal and decides even more firmly against letting her into his fantasy.

 

Tom always looks less white on telly, less freckly too, Stu realises as they zoom even further in on his expression, the spattering of familiar freckles barely visible. He wonders if they slap a load of fake tan on him - Tom’s never mentioned it and he’s never come home looking like Kilroy.

 

The thought is derailed as Tom makes a noise that’s disturbingly similar to the ones in Stu’s fantasy and reads a passage aloud.

 

“’… _it is ordained that such persons as be appointed to the privy chamber, shall be loving together, and of good unity and accord keeping secret all such things as shall be done or said in the same’_ ”

 

Tom raises his eyebrows in hammed up surprise.

 

“The temptation from a contemporary viewpoint is to put a sexual interpretation on this,” Says the anonymous flirt.

 

“but of course a lot of these rules were put in place just to highlight the very special position of the king, and to make anybody who had any intimacy with him feel privileged.”

 

“It certainly seems to imply that some of them were expected to sleep with him.” Tom counters.

 

“This is a side of Henry we don’t often get to see, and I wonder how much of his own personal experiences were reflected in the way he attacked the monasteries, specifically his anti-homosexuality laws, which were the first civil laws of the kind to be imposed in the country. It’s generally assumed that this was an excuse made up to justify his targeting specific orders, but I wonder if there’s more to it. There is this common phenomenon where people with extreme homophobia usually experience a degree of repressed homosexuality. There’s a lot of references here that would probably surprise a lot of people who have been brought up on the image of Henry as very much a ladies man.”

 

Stu is taken over by a familiar urge to tell everyone who’s watching how he gets to feel that clever mouth wrapped around his dick on a regular basis.

 

Tom grows more animated as he talks, his hands coming into play and his cheekbones getting a bit pink.

 

Stu wonders if the bookish floozy has cottoned on yet and slides a finger behind his balls.

 

“You may be interested in this one, as well.” She carefully passes him another document and summarizes.

 

“He had a lot of young gentleman courtiers as well and these young men had to be accomplished and athletic, and they were known by the older members of the court as ‘ _pretty boys_ ’ and further down… Only six servants were allowed to touch the king, one of these was the barber who was forbidden to keep the company of ‘ _vile persons_ ’ or ‘ _misguided women_ ’. Such offences carried the punishment of losing his room and ‘ _further punishment upon the King’s pleasure._ ’”

 

“Sounds a bit kinky, doesn’t it?” Tom grins cheekily at her.

 

“Oh shit” Stu breathes, his toes curling into the bedspread.

 

They find some portraits to look at of the preferred male courtiers and the camera pans around to show not only the pictures but also the long line of Tom’s back and broad shoulders (another triumph by the wardrobe department, not that Stu cares at this stage).

 

Stu remembers kissing every inch of the bare skin of that back while he worked three fingers into Tom only the other night, and the way he pushed back, begging into his pillow for more, his voice rough and desperate sounding.

 

Stu pumps himself firmly, fed up of teasing, spurred on by Tom proclaiming that there’s no denying that some of the young men are very pretty.

 

The programme goes on to look at Henry VIII’s relationships and attitudes towards women. Ordinary stuff, only the focus is more on why women were interested in him when he was famous for murdering them, and how a sexual relationship with the king could further their careers.

 

Stu’s first thought is that Mrs Lintott would be proud, which is enough to cool him off a bit.

 

Tom doesn’t let him down, though. He stands in profile examining another portrait, this time of a young Henry and tips the camera a cheeky wink.

 

“If I were a Tudor lady,” he concludes. “I think I would.”

 

That fucking finishes him.

 

The door bangs shut downstairs and Tom’s voice is suddenly in stereo as Stu explodes across his stomach.

 

His first thought as he regains coherency is that he could have timed it better, but at least it’ll spare him the empty feeling of boredom afterwards.

 

“Oh, bloody hell, Stu!”

 

Tom’s appearance in the bedroom doorway is brief.

 

Stu reaches lazily for a tissue and cleans himself up while he listens to Tom banging about making dinner.

 

Grinning, he slips on a pair of sweatpants and shuffles into the kitchen.

 

“I thought you were at book club tonight?”

 

“Four people came down with a vomiting bug, I didn’t fancy risking it.” Tom answers, without looking up from where he’s slicing vegetables - slightly more viciously than Stu feels is necessary.

 

He steals a strip of carrot off the chopping board.

 

“Please tell me you washed your hands.”

 

Stu smirks at him.

 

“What’s up with you?”

 

Tom finishes murdering the carrots and moves on to attack a chunk of broccoli like he’s sworn revenge on it in this life or the next.

 

“I wish you wouldn’t wank to my programme. You know I don’t like it.”

 

“I don’t know why. It’s supposed to be entertaining, isn’t it? Make history enjoyable and interesting and all that.”

 

He licks his lips and flicks his eyes over Tom’s body.

 

“You’re actually shameless.”

 

“I’m allowed to find you attractive, aren’t I? To fantasize about you?”

 

He puts the knife down, which makes Stu feel easier, and transfers the vegetables, and his attention, to the hob.

 

Not to be deterred, Stu presses his still-sweaty chest against Tom’s back, wrapping his arms around him. In the polished chrome of the cooker hood, Tom’s reflection fights a smile.

 

“You don’t object to that?”

 

“No, but –“

 

“But what?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Some people would be flattered.”

 

“Yeah, well it doesn’t exactly help me feel like I’m taken seriously.”

 

Stu’s never seen anyone splashing soy sauce about so aggressively before.

 

“Nobody takes you more seriously than me.”

 

“From the man who regards my serious history programme as a masturbatory aid, that’s not hugely reassuring.”

 

“No, I mean it.”

 

He bends his head to kiss Tom’s neck and Tom tries to disguise his breathy noise of enjoyment as a huff of annoyance, Stu lets him think he believes it.

 

“You got me into Oxford, remember. I have you to thank for all of my incredible wealth and power. I take you very seriously.”

 

Tom makes no move to pull away from him so Stu starts pulling his shirt free from his waistband.

 

“You did most of that yourself, you’d have managed fine without me.”

 

In spite of his grumbling, Tom cocks his head, baring more of his neck to Stu’s lips.

 

“Don’t be so modest. I know you don’t mean it.”

 

Tom nods.

 

“You’re right, you were dire. I expect you’d be working in McDonald's for the rest of your life if I hadn’t come along.”

 

He squirms away from Stu’s fingers as they turn tickling.

 

“Dick. It was a good programme, really. Hardly any bullshit at all.”

 

“Not helping yourself. Which one was it?”

 

“Henry VIII.”

 

“Ah, of course. You and your teacher-kink.” Tom shakes his head, his hand flying to his glasses.

 

“So what did you conclude? I sort of missed the end.”

 

“You’re gross.”

 

Stu shrugs, determinedly unashamed. “You love me.”

 

Tom turns a bit pink and launches into his explanation.

 

“Erm…That he was a good gamble for an ambitious woman who would end up being married off to some rich psycho anyway, and a lot of well-placed families with daughters would consider it worth the risk. As far as he was concerned I think I said that he was probably bisexual at the very least, as his marriages could be explained politically and motivated by a desire for heirs. His own personal issues with his sexuality fuelled his homosexuality laws and pathological misogyny.”

 

“Sounds possible.” Stu folds his arms across his chest. “That Hampton Court lady fancied you.”

 

“It has been heard of. You jealous?”

 

“Don’t be stupid.”

 

Tom grins.

 

“Did they leave in the bit where I said Henry VIII was buff?”

 

Stu grins. “Yeah. Actually, it sounded more like you said you’d fuck him.”

 

“I expect my mum will be calling soon then. I’m surprised she hasn’t already. She still hasn’t forgiven me for mentioning shitting in the last series.”

 

“I expect she’ll call as soon as she’s cast a spell on the neighbours to make them forget it. Probably busy looking for her cauldron at the moment.”

 

Tom narrows his eyes at him, but Stu can tell he’s trying not to laugh.

 

“I can arrange things so we don’t hear the phone.”

 

“I won’t get my hopes up, I expect you’re worn out.”

 

“This minute might be a stretch, but give it until dinner’s ready.”

 

He pokes the contents of the wok with a spatula. Tom shuts his eyes in horror.

 

“Please don’t touch the food.”

 

Stu raises his hands in the air and steps away.

 

“So would you really? If you were alive at the time?”

 

“I don’t know. When he was young, he was quite hot by all accounts and apparently I have a thing for narcissists who make vulgar displays of wealth.”

 

“Oooooooooh! Catty.”

 

Tom shrugs and shoves his glasses further up the bridge of his nose again in his habitual nervous gesture.

 

“It was only supposed to be a joke, I didn’t think they’d leave it in. I expect I’ve offended half of the Women’s Institute down there.”

 

“Since your parents chose to retire to Brighton, I doubt that’ll be an issue.” Stu grins.

 

It’s not that he doesn’t understand why Mrs Irwin’s staunch refusal to accept her son’s sexuality upsets Tom, it’s just that he can’t help being a bit amused by it. Or, more specifically, by the fact that she seems to think she can nudge him back on track with a good talking to whenever he appears to get a bit too gay for comfort.

 

It’s especially funny as this attitude is paired with the worst gaydar ever to grace the Earth. He does, however, have more sense than to share his amusement with Tom.

 

“Your mum’s probably the only member who isn’t an elderly lesbian. I dunno why she bothers watching it at all, she never likes it.”

 

Tom purses his lips and gives him the side eye.

 

“Thanks, Stu, that really helps.”

 

“I’m just saying! I don’t understand why someone would bother to watch every episode and then phone up to complain _every_ time.”

 

“I think your motivation for watching is unique, so you’re probably not the best judge.”

 

“You don’t know that.” Stu grins impishly and waggles his eyebrows.

 

Tom pinches the bridge of his nose.

 

“Seriously, Stuart, shut up.”

 

Stu does. Tom is silent for a while.

 

“It wasn’t that bad, was it? From a mum perspective.”

 

“Honestly? You practically came out on camera.”

 

“Fuck. I’m dead.”

 

“It was brilliant.”

 

Stu wraps himself around Tom again, sneaking a hand under his usual drab and baggy shirt to stroke the bare skin of his stomach. His cock twitches back to life as he explores the familiar softness and rocks his hips into Tom’s almost non-existent arse.

 

“You were interesting and engaging and funny and gorgeous and sexy and your stir fry is burning.”

 

“Fuck.”

 

The phone starts ringing shrilly, a second later it’s joined by the smoke alarm.

 

“Fuck! Fuck!”

 

Stu takes charge, switching the hob off at the wall and planting his hands on Tom’s shoulders, he steers him out of the room. The muffled wail of the smoke alarm continues through the closed door, but the phone is no longer audible.

 

Tom’s eyes flick anxiously back toward the door.

 

“I’m going out. You can answer that or come with me, you have thirty seconds to decide while I put some clothes on.”

 

Left to make his decision, Tom oscillates for a few seconds at the foot of the stairs before making up his mind and following his boyfriend. Stu’s earlier idea of drowning the phone out was by far the most appealing option. Besides, he’s already given Stu one orgasm tonight, he feels a little quid pro quo is in order. At the very least, he'd like to be present for the next one.


End file.
